Queen of Azkaban
by pink-neon
Summary: Sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for a crime she did not commit, Hermione is given a chance to change her fate. “Tell me, Malfoy. What would I gain from listening to you?” He smirked. “Your freedom.” HGDM.
1. Chapter 1

**QUEEN OF AZKABAN**

**Summary: **Sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for a crime she did not commit, Hermione is given a chance to change her fate. ("Tell me, Malfoy. What would I gain from listening to you?" He smirked. "Your freedom.") HGDM.

**AN: **You might get a little bored with this prologue, but I promise, the next chapter would be less descriptions and more dialogues. Plus, interaction between Draco and Hermione. So stay tuned. )

**PROLOGUE**

_"I want to see and taste and feel and hear and know everything. I want to close my eyes, let my own dreams wrap itself around me, paint a thousand words and a thousand smiles, and, you know, just… fly."_

_(Laugh like the soft pitter-patter of rain) _

"_That's crazy."_

_(Smile like the blazing heat of your soul)_

"_Yeah. And that's why I know it's going to come true."_

"_In your dreams."_

"_I _am _dreaming."_

_(And wake up)._

Dark clouds hung in the air like great curtains of doom, and with it came the heavy onslaught of rain, pouring mercilessly on the raging black sea as though they were daggers heading straight towards a large pool of blood. The combined forces of lightning and thunder emitted more fear than any other weapon- whether magical or not- known to mankind. Behind them, Poseidon showed his mighty wrath as heavy churning waves crashed and lapped against large, jagged rocks and against the large piece of dark, desolate land that formed the famed fortress of Azkaban.

Known as the scariest and gloomiest place in all wizarding Britain, Azkaban thrives on a massive illusion of stonewalls that stretched for miles and miles as far as the eye can see. Two heavy iron doors served as the only entrance to the fortress, and beside it, a small group of guards and Aurors were stationed to monitor the progress of criminals and visitors alike. But do not be fooled for the rust adorning these doors and the seemingly lack of people protecting it; on these doors lie countless wards, each as complicated as the rest, and the air hummed with strong traces of century-old magic.

As if the thought of tight security wasn't enough, prisoners are also subjected to deal with the cold, for there was never a day that passed when the area was not assaulted by thunderstorms. In fact, it was not uncommon for some of them to die from the cold because there was something so terribly different about it, not at all like the expected chilly air from the winter season, but rather it made those locked up encounter their worst nightmares. This, perhaps you may say, is indeed a fate far worse than death. It is perhaps something worse than dementors or any other life-sucking, fear-inducing creature they have ever met.

For behind these walls, the past, present and future merges into one. Behind these walls, people forget. Behind these walls, to live is a curse and to have Death's kiss is a blessing. Behind these walls, the forgotten lies. Behind these walls, their fates were doomed. But perhaps for one certain individual, her fate is just about to begin.

……………………………

Dark eyes stared unblinkingly at the darkness swirling around her, and despite her aura of indifference, she could not help but shiver at the freezing temperature inside her cell. Even if there were no windows for the breeze to pass through, her fingers were numb and blue from the cold and no amount of rubbing could make it go away. She sat with her back to the cold stonewall, her arms wrapped around her knees. They were marked with years' worth of grime and dust that it showed just how seldom she bathed.

Another bolt of lightning roared in the distance, illuminating the face of the dark figure. Brown eyes devoid of any emotion and lips so unnaturally pale were the features that belonged to Hermione Granger, Azkaban's most notorious prisoner. How, you may ask, did one go from being Harry Potter's best friend, one of the saviors of the wizarding world, to suspected Voldemort's spy and murderer of Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts? Simple. She had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. There had been a trial. And people. Lots and lots of people. Most of them were furious and refused to believe that she had committed the crime. But their indignation was nothing compared to the ones felt by members of the Order and her friends in Hogwarts. The now worldwide famous Harry Potter promised hell to pay for whoever had decided to frame his best friend. The same was said for Ron Weasley, the other part of the Golden Trio. They swore they would stand by her in her trial, no matter the circumstances. It was a promise they had both broken.

There came a time after the first few days of her trial that Hermione Granger saw something resembling doubt on her friends' faces. At first it was slow. They pressed her for more answers to questions she had been unable to answer, and then, as witnesses and evidences grew in number, that doubt had intensified, until one day, a confrontation came and history, as they said, was changed.

_Traitor. The severed ties of friendship for the price of ambition. Traitor. Traitor. _

She remembered these exact same lines at the day her sentence was announced. She remembered the hollow, empty feeling at the pit of her stomach. She remembered the flash of triumph on her former friends' faces. She remembered the whispers of the media, of the whole wizarding world. She remembered the scorn and absolute anger they had felt as they set their eyes upon her. She remembered the painful sting of injustice like a slap on the face. She remembered the fact that she was innocent. And it was with this knowledge that Hermione Granger said goodbye to the magical world with a bitter heart.

But contrary to popular belief, her stay in the famed fortress was anything but ordinary. She did not rave like most of her cellmates, and neither did she attempt to end her life. At first, the Ministry attributed her sane disposition to the fact that she had been the brightest witch of her age, and reckoned that after a month or so, she would not last. So they took it upon themselves to place raving and deadly criminals in the cell with her despite her stubborn refusal. But it proved to be an extremely fatal decision, and it was on that time when the brunette's reputation changed all over again.

It first began during her third week stay in the wizard prison (her method of keeping track of the days was simple – she would count how many meals she had had, for one meal is equivalent to one day) exactly after the guards had given her her very first cellmate.

He had been a low-ranking Death Eater from the first rise of Voldemort and it was hard to believe that this bald, pot-bellied man had been a person capable of cold-blooded murder. But it was not the identity of this man that one should focus on, but instead, his fate, because the following day, exactly twenty hours later, he was discovered dead; his body lay sprawled on the floor like a carpet, eyes glassy and lips parted in silent shock. His companion, on the other hand, appeared to be staring blankly at the opposite wall, sitting with one hand propped up on one knee, and looking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

When questioned about the man's state, she had simply shrugged, fixed the Azkaban guards with a blank stare, and said casually, "He was just in shock, that's all."

Meeting her with disbelieving remarks, the healers had been called, and indeed, it was verified that no weapon had been used against the man, and neither was it the effect of magic since they were wards around every cell (especially hers) that prevented someone from using it. They had tried questioning her about it again, even going so far as to try to use Legillimency (Lucky for her, she had been a Master Occlumens since the beginning of the war), but all they got out of her was one sentence.

"The only thing I did was talk to him, and that hardly classifies as murder, does it?"

Angered at the way Hermione Granger seemed to get away with almost everything, the Ministry sent prisoner after prisoner to her cell. Some of them were old acquaintances, famous Death Eaters, and even former friends who had gone to the dark side, but all of them ended with the same fate. Death. They did not know how she was doing it, or if it was even her fault, for everyone knew that she was under surveillance and the guards themselves had claimed that she had done nothing more than talk to her cellmates (although they could not hear what she was saying due to the charms surrounding her cell).

This went on for quite some time, but still the current Minister of Magic, someone who closely resembled Fudge in attitude, refused to give up. The wards around her cell were strengthened, the guards watching her doubled, and prisoners were sent one after the other, but they only found out that when Hermione Granger was determined to do something (And that something, they speculated, was beyond anything they could comprehend), she would not stop until she obtained it.

Another two months passed, signaling the arrival of summer, and yet, things in Azkaban prison had yet to improve. By this time, Hermione had been dubbed by the Prophet (for someone within the confines of the fortress had leaked information to none other than Rita Skeeter) as "the most accomplished and feared Azkaban prisoner since the time of Grindelward". Naturally, Voldemort had never been a "prisoner", so the title had fallen into Hermione's hands. As for Sirius Black, the Prophet, and most British wizards also agreed, that having an infamous prisoner killing off her fellow prisoners while still in jail (true, there was no evidence to this, but the rumors had spread so fast that it was now considered common knowledge) was much more scandalous and interesting than being the very first person to ever break out of prison.

So to sum things up, one could say that with the media working around the clock like annoying bees to have printed copies of newspapers and magazines with Hermione Granger's face on the front cover, people became more than curious. Plans were made, meetings were conducted, and the only thing left was for the major players to meet and then, the game would start.

……………………………


	2. Chapter 2

**Queen of Azkaban**

**Chapter 1**

"_Have you ever felt as if your life's just one big messy video game, where everyone watches it, while you just keep on playing and playing and playing, even though you're so tired, and sometimes you just want to stop but you can't –"_

"_-because people expect you to defeat everything that comes your way-"_

_(Close your eyes and see. See reality as a nightmare –the force that pushes you towards the brink of insanity)_

"_-and you want to tear everything apart but you're trapped-"_

_(Spread your arms wide and embrace it)_

"_-and you can't breathe, can't think, can't feel, can't stay alive-"_

_(Scream at nothing and everything)_

"_-and in the end, you just keep on losing and losing and losing?"_

_(And let yourself fall.)_

………………………

Draco Malfoy was not pleased. Of course, people familiar with him would dismiss this as something normal because they probably came to the conclusion ages ago that Malfoys like him, no matter how rich and influential and arrogant, would always be unhappy about something. But this time, when one remarks about him being "not pleased", it would translate to him being downright furious.

"Malfoy!"

Harry Potter stared coolly at his companion from across the room. He immediately took notice of Draco's frustrated countenance, the tightness of his mouth, the crease on his forehead, the clenched fists, and most noticeable of all, the deep burning anger reflected in his calculating gray eyes. Beside him, reclining on the sofa with a sports magazine half-open in his lap, Blaise Zabini gave Draco a mocking courteous smile in greeting.

"What's with the sudden mood swing, Malfoy? Did something happen?" Harry, whose brilliant green eyes had been following Draco's stride into their headquarters, asked.

Seven years ago, Harry Potter would never have dreamed of asking Draco this question, more or less with a note of concern in his voice. He could have taunted him, spat insults at him, glared at him for all he was worth, laughed unkindly at him, but never gave him reason to believe that he could actually be more than the school arch-nemesis he had known for years. But of course, a lot of things could have happened in the two years that they have graduated from Hogwarts.

For instance, following the supposedly betrayal of one of his closest friends, Hermione Granger, Harry got tired of the job he led as an Auror, now that almost all of the Death Eaters and other supporters of Voldemort were in Azkaban, and together with a select group of friends, he founded a secret organization for the Ministry that not only fights the growing corruption present in wizarding Britain, but also protects the wizarding world from constant threats. It was, in a way, a situation a lot similar like Robin Hood, although theirs was more centered on blood, death, and less honor.

It was in this particular organization that he had become re-acquainted with Draco and several other people whom, before, he had no inclination of ever forming solid relationships with. Draco, tired of the life of doing nothing except depending on the family fortune, learned about the organization through Blaise, who had been recruited by the Ministry to give assistance, and decided immediately to join, much to Harry and the other members' protest.

For the first three months, they had done nothing but argue, botching up some of the organization's best missions in the process, and lived to make each other's lives miserable. It was only during the failure of a very important mission did the other members of the crew coerced them into forming a truce to stop the growing hostility between them. Following that time, the hazy line between rivalry and friendship faded and gradually, they began to build a friendship that was, surprisingly, steady and strengthening with each year spent with the crew. Sure, they still had their petty disputes and occasional fights, after all, they were Harry Potter _and _Draco Malfoy, but other than that, everything seems to be working out for the both of them.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts just in time to hear Draco's outraged rants about the stupidity of the Ministry and the human population in general. "By your incessant whining and loud cursing, am I to guess that you just came from a meeting with a Ministry official?" he interrupted.

By the muscle forming on Draco's face, Harry had every reason to suspect that he had guessed right. Only two things could upset Draco right after the end of a brilliant mission. First is, of course, the crew itself, for reasons only a Malfoy could comprehend. The other one are Ministry officials who occasionally try to bug the hell out of them. And if there was one thing Harry and Draco both agree on, it was that the Ministry are utter imbeciles for trying to meddle into private affairs that had nothing to do with them, even though they are the ones who provide fund for the organization.

"Guess which one it was this time," Draco said wryly.

Blaise grinned. "Was it a part Veela woman who tried to seduce you so you could spill info regarding our last mission?" he replied.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had no idea if Blaise was actually trying to be serious or not. With him, one could never tell. He could be perfectly blank one moment, and silently executing revenges the next. It was one of Blaise's quirks, and more often than not, a great asset in his role as a member of the crew.

"Bloody hell, no, Blaise!" Draco retorted, anger seeping back to his features as easily and abrupt as Blaise's random comments. "It was _Percy _Weasley." There was a certain kind of venom laced when Draco had emphasized Percy's name, which only confirmed the fact of how angry he was with the third son of the Weasleys.

Harry blinked. He certainly wasn't expecting that. "Percy? What did he want with you?" he asked. Now he understood why Draco got mad. If Percy himself, the right hand man of the current Minister of Magic, had came to speak with him in person, there must be a pretty important reason behind it.

"He learned that Finnigan quit the team in order to marry that Brown bitch," Draco informed them, eyes flashing with anger. "He said he was sent by the Minister himself to give me a mission…"

"Is it a mission-for-the-entire-team or mission-only-for-you kind of thing?"

Draco's expression hardened. "Mission for me," he practically spat. "Apparently, the Minister took it upon himself to _suggest _a replacement for Finnigan, and he wants me to go convince that soon-to-be replacement to join our team."

"Bullshit!" Blaise exclaimed indignantly. All of them, especially him, did not like it when the Minister meddled in their own affairs. "Who is he to tell _us _what to do?"

Harry thought for a while. "But what I want to know is why he specifically asked you to do it," he voiced out loud.

"He's a sadist," was Draco's quick reply.

Blaise grimaced. "Touch luck, mate," he said, clapping Draco on the back to offer moral support. "Good thing Ron's not here, or else he'd laugh his ass off." Ron, as the whole crew knew, was doing a solo mission in Germany.

"You sure you can handle yourself?"

Draco sneered. "Stop babying me, Potter!" he protested. "I can perfectly well take care of myself, so go save someone else."

Harry shrugged, too used to Draco's acerbic tones to actually be affected. "Yeah, sure," he said carelessly.

But what he failed to see was a flash of something – perhaps a mixture of fear and apprehension – in Draco's eyes. None of his companions knew that it was not like the usual missions given to him countless times before. Because this time, he was actually asked to go to Azkaban prison and meet the most notorious prisoner who had ever lived. Tough luck for him, indeed.

………………………

Draco made a great effort of pulling his cloak tighter to himself without making it appear as though he was really shivering. Everything about him felt cold, even the air that passed through his lungs seemed to be made from ice, and any moment now, his fingers would tremble and his teeth would chatter. He was sorely tempted to perform a warming charm on himself, but then remembered that he had surrendered his wand at the fortress' entrance, and besides, there were about four guards surrounding him and he did not particularly like to be seen as weak.

"So, mister…?"

"Malfoy," he supplied.

The guard interviewing him sent odd looks to the one beside him, and Draco fought for control. He knew that upon hearing his name, they had come to easily recognize him as the son of Lucius Malfoy, who had been given the Dementor's Kiss a week after Voldemort was defeated. After all, there was only one man who looked exactly like Lucius, and that was Draco. Probably, the guards were wondering as to why an offspring of Lucius was allowed to freely wander outside the wizarding prison, with the consent of the Ministry, no less.

"What is your purpose of visiting here?" the guard asked him, his tone becoming twice as formal as the one he had used a while ago.

Draco showed him the badge that classified him as top priority of the Ministry, reveling in the incredulous looks painted on the guards face. "I'm on Ministry business," he said curtly.

"Right then, sir. Who is it you would like to visit?"

Draco paused for a while before answering. "Hermione Granger," he told them.

It was though someone had pressed the mute button and everything started to become silent. The guards wore horrified, frozen expressions on their faces. Draco wondered why saying someone's name could affect them like that. But then again, he read the news, and he knew that in this part of England, his former schoolmate was greatly feared.

"_Her? _You must be mistaken…" one of the guards said, voice trembling.

Draco scowled. He was in no mood for hysterical guards right now. "No. I am under instructions to talk to her," he informed them coldly, sending them an icy glare that might force them to cooperate.

It worked. The guard, still a bit shaken, nodded and gestured for him and another guard to follow him. "Alright, then, sir. If you would please follow me to Cell number 28," he said.

They walked towards the direction of a dark, narrow hallway. It was silent, so deathly silent, and Draco cringed as he heard the sound of their own footsteps against the floor echo sharply around the hallway. He remembered the last time he came here; he was on orders from his mother to visit his father, who, at that time, was still alive and rotting in prison. And he remembered walking in this same corridor, only before, Azkaban was still swarming with Dementors, and he had almost pissed in his pants due to the sudden overwhelming fear that had enveloped him at that moment.

The guard leading the way finally chose that moment to talk to him. "No offense, sir, but you must be really mad if you want to talk to _her,_" he told him. "I mean, no one has ever visited her for a year. And no one would probably will. But what I'm trying to say to you, sir, is that you should be pretty careful around her. If you think –"

Draco ignored him, but he kept on talking anyway.

"-that she's harmless just because she stays silent and stares at you without a care in the world (she'll probably do that), then you're sorely mistaken, sir. She's a dangerous madwoman who would not hesitate to dismember you once your guard is down. I'm telling you, sir, I have never met someone like her. She's not human at all, she's-"

Before Draco lost his patience and strangled the guard to death, he interrupted him. "Isn't this the one?" he asked. He had stopped walking, his eyes trained on the sign that said "Cell number 28".

"Oh, right, of course," the guard muttered. He reached for the keys dangling from the waistband of his jeans and with a shaking hand opened the cell door. Draco frowned at the ease with which the guard opened the door, but then remembered that there was a certain spell developed several years ago that enabled the guards to touch it without being electrified, unlike the prisoners.

"You have a visitor," the guard growled.

The cell door swung to reveal the form of the one who bore the weight of the whole wizarding world's scorn. Figure straight and calm, even with the heavy shackles on her wrists, Hermione Granger stepped out of the shadows. Draco could not see much of her since it was dark even outside her cell. But she looked every bit like the person the guard had described a while ago –silent and unmoving – except she never glanced at Draco the way the guards thought she did.

Draco watched as she silently allowed the guards to lead her, along with him, towards the direction of the place they had interrogated him. He inwardly cursed them for being so stupid. What was the point of allowing him to go with them when they would only come back to that room anyway? Why didn't they just left him there with the other guards and fetched the prisoner themselves?

_Bloody stupid guards, _Draco seethed to himself.

But then as they reached their destination, he realized that the guards weren't leading him towards the room he had been in before. As he went inside, he noticed that the place was smaller than the other room, and in it, there were several chairs and tables, poorly designed to accommodate prisoners and visitors alike.

One of the guards, the one who had continuously ranted about Hermione, stared at him, as though undecided whether to show pity or concern. "We'll leave you here now to talk. Sir, you have approximately thirty minutes. And," he glanced at the still prisoner beside him, "if you need anything, sir, anything at all, we'll just be outside, guarding the door to this room."

Draco nodded, dismissing them. Now he was alone with nobody but Hermione Granger.

Taking a seat on one of the dusty chairs, he took this chance to observe her. Her hair was longer than the last time Draco had seen her (but then again, it was to be expected, seeing as two years had passed by) and he was surprised to find it no longer bushy. Yes, it was still wild, but wild in a nice sort of way, clinging to her back like second skin. She was wearing what appeared to be a gray, almost black men's shirt (although he had no idea if it had been originally white and had only turned gray due to the dirt), loose, baggy pants, and she was barefoot.

But what he found most striking were her eyes, which were now surprisingly directed at him. In all the years that he had known Hermione Granger as a school enemy, he had never once seen her eyes with a blank sort of expression. Before, they had always sparkled with emotion –whether it was anger, disappointment, loneliness, happiness – and it struck him strange to finally see her reduced to something like this, like someone who had been under the Imperius for so long that even with the spell gone, the effects remained. Before, Draco had known the girl Hermione Granger, the one who had never been out of brilliant ideas and witty replies, but now, he realized that the person standing before him was a woman. An empty woman.

"Hello, Granger," Draco drawled, smirking at her and hoping to draw some kind of familiar reaction.

It took a moment before she replied. When she did, all she ever said was "Malfoy". She said it with a soft voice, but there was a certain hint of roughness in it, enough to signify that this was a voice that had not been used for ages.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What? No curses? No 'ferret' remarks or even a 'You haven't changed in the slightest' kind of greeting?"

Hermione's dark brown eyes were fixed on his face and for reasons unknown, Draco found himself unnerved by the way she stared at him. It was as though she was looking through a glass, absently looking at something without the tiniest hint of curiosity or something indicating that she cared.

"No," she said in that same quiet tone. "Not when you obviously want me to react that way."

"Aren't you even going to ask why I'm here?" Draco pressed on.

Silence greeted him.

Frustrated at the way she was ignoring him (in Draco's mind, nobody should ignore a Malfoy), he glared at her. No matter how drastic she had changed, she still managed to succeed in annoying him. Draco found it an almost comforting thought. Keyword: Almost. He was really about to give up and tell her what he came here for when she spoke.

"Tell me, Malfoy. What am I to gain from listening to you?" she asked blankly. From any other person, it would have sounded demanding. But right now, with her, it merely sounded curious.

Draco smirked. "Your freedom."

This time, Hermione did react. Her eyes flickered with an expression of shock and her lips were a little parted. "W-what?" she said weakly.

"You heard me." Draco met her shocked gaze, and his smirk widened. "We, meaning, the Ministry and I, are in the position where we can release you, and I don't mean temporary, from your lifelong sentence in Azkaban."

Hermione became silent again, causing Draco to drop his smirk and become irritated again. She seemed to be seriously pondering this information, and after having gathered her thoughts for a while, she stared at Draco again, that unnerving, calm stare that he had grown to hate in a span of a few minutes.

"What's the catch?" she asked softly.

"Still smart, I see," Draco commented. "The Ministry wants you to work for us, a secret government organization that helps combat the growing crime rate in wizarding Britain. Kind of like a secret Auror agency or something. Anyway, they seem to think that since one of our members recently resigned, you would be the perfect replacement. Apparently, the next mission we would be taking would be far more dangerous than any we have ever handled, or so we're told, and they want someone like you on the job."

Draco watched her as she raised one finely shaped eyebrow. He was hoping for her to remark something about him being part of that organization, or about the danger of the missions, but she did neither.

"They expect me to believe that they would release me, as easily as that, after painstakingly making sure that I landed here in the first place, just because your so-called organization lacks one member?" She looked anything but disturbed, but in her tone there lay an underlying meaning of mild disbelief.

"Yes. Although I, for once, think that you don't."

"They're… scared of me, aren't they?"

"If you're thinking scared enough to seriously consider letting go of their most notorious prisoner ever, then yes, I would suppose so."

Silence. Hermione's head was bent down, and she was playing with the cuffs on her wrist as though they weighed as light as a feather. Draco did not know what to say.

"So, are you in or not? Just say the magic word so I can leave now and get on with my life," he finally said. He could not honestly understand what was taking her so long to say "yes". He knew that anything could be better than this horrible place. So why did she feel somewhat hesitant?

Slowly, Hermione lifted her head to face him. "I'm in."

………………………

Hermione closed her eyes as she hissed in pain, and it took every ounce of her self-control to stop herself from letting the tears welling in her eyes from falling down. She abruptly withdrew her stinging arms that were, a while ago, painfully submerged in the tub's hot water. A portion of her arms, the ones that were not dotted with large bruises both old and new, were torn and bleeding red, making a sick contrast to her otherwise pale skin. These marks, brought about by the everyday use of shackles, were also present on other parts of her body –mainly her legs – and allowing them to be in contact with water was the most painful thing she had ever done in her life.

She was in an empty guest bathroom in some unoccupied part of Malfoy Manor, under Draco Malfoy's orders to "take one hell of a bath and come out looking like an actual human being". And for once in her whole life, she had obeyed him, without even a single word of protest. He looked as though he could not believe it. And she could not either. She could not believe that here she was, a falsely branded criminal straight from the bowels of Azkaban, visited by her former schoolmate slash enemy, offered her freedom in exchange for a job that would most likely kill her, agreed, and was now staying at said enemy's manor as though there was nothing unusual about it.

She remembered stepping out of the fortress, howling in pain and blindly shielding her eyes from the sunlight. For all the years that she had been living in darkness, she never once imagined that sunlight would have this effect on her. She remembered the hesitation and fear evident on the guards' faces as her heavy shackles were released. She remembered Draco angrily informing her that he was ordered that whether she liked it or not, she would be temporarily staying at Malfoy Manor, since his mother Narcissa, was away on vacation somewhere in the Caribbean. And she remembered the mild elation she felt at that moment as she realized that finally, she was free.

Hermione finally stepped out of the bathtub, making soft splashing noises. She dried herself with one of the fluffy white towels lying around, and was about to find a bathrobe when she saw a short, green, silk dress that looked as though it just came straight from a royal wardrobe. A few minutes later, she came out of the bathroom wearing it, with her long wet hair meticulously brushed, and her wrists still bleeding and free from bandages, just in time for the master of the house to enter her room.

No reaction was seen from her as she closed the door behind her and faced him, but Draco, who was more or less expecting to see the same person who he had brought inside the house a mere hour ago, was surprised at the new person standing before him. He knew she was obsessive compulsive and a neat freak before, but he never thought that even after spending two years in prison, this trait would still be evident. And he did not know whether to insult her or ignore her for it.

"I see my bathroom has done wonders to you, Granger," Draco said as though telling her that it was his bathroom that brought about this sudden change in her.

She did not reply, and instead, parted the curtains away and stared out of the window.

"You must be hungry. So I had one of the elves bring out food and deliver it here so you can eat," Draco told her, still mildly irritated at her lack of remarks. Honestly, how hard was it for a once annoyingly, bushy know-it-all to reply to him every time he tried to make conversation?

Hermione nodded, her gaze still drawn to whatever had captured her attention outside the window.

Draco's left eye twitched. One part of him very much wanted to leave this new, silent person alone to do God knows what, but another part of him was naturally curious. So he opted to let the silence stretch on.

"Who painted it?"

Hermione's whisper jerked Draco away from his thoughts. Her back was now to the window, and she was regarding him with a blank face.

Draco frowned. "Who painted what?" he asked, clearly confused.

"That painting," Hermione replied. "The large family portrait displayed on your living room. Who painted it?"

Draco raised an eyebrow as if to say, "You're so weird. Why would you want to know?" But he spoke nonetheless. "A family friend. He was someone who practically lived on the other side of the world, and my father made him come here just so he could paint it," he divulged, his whole stance indifferent and calm.

Hermione's footsteps as she reached the foot of the bed were loud due to the silence descending over them. Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "It's nice," she remarked, as though there was nothing wrong about discussing art with the wizard who used to insult her heritage before. "It doesn't flatter, exaggerate, or lie because the people on the painting look exactly the way they are. It's a painting that's actually real."

"No one asked for your opinion, Granger," Draco sneered. He thought of the cold, expressionless replica of his face proudly displayed on the living room. It was painted several years ago, when he was still studying at Hogwarts, and he knew that the way he looked now was totally different from the one seen in the painting.

Hermione blinked at his sudden change of demeanor and thought that she must've said something that did not please him. She shrugged and sat on the bed, saying nothing. However, this did not last soon once Draco, who caught sight of her bleeding arms, gripped them, causing her to emit a gasp.

"What the _fuck _happened to you?" he exclaimed.

Hermione tried her best not to flinch, although it proved to be very difficult, seeing as she was currently looking at her school enemy's outraged gray eyes and her wrists hurt from said person's painful grip.

"Hey, don't go off ignoring me again! Answer me!"

"What do you expect, Malfoy? I came from prison, which is not exactly Wonderland. You, of all people, should know about that," she told him quite calmly, but her wavering tone indicated the amount of pain caused by Draco's hands on her wrists.

"Like hell!"

Draco let go of her arms and wiped the blood on his fingers with his robes. He watched her stare at her own wounds and he was suddenly filled with the need to leave the room because he, of all people, did not want and deserve to see Hermione Granger trying vainly to appear invulnerable. Sure, he really disliked her, but he did not hate her (after all, he couldn't possibly hate someone who the whole wizarding world already hated and had already suffered two years in Azkaban for it. Besides, he certainly did not become friends with Harry Potter and the rest of his motley crew for nothing). By the twisting in his gut, he predicted that the valiant spirit of Harry Potter was about to possess him.

Speaking of Harry Potter, Draco remembered that he had, before his trip to Azkaban, invited the devil himself to his mansion for some male bonding, which is of course a not-so-clever ruse to tell him about their new replacement member. Although he knew what the bespectacled man's reaction would be, he was worried, especially since he did not know how the woman beside him would take it. Would she turn hysterical, escape from him, threaten to kill Harry (and him, for that matter) with the closest sharp object she could find, or would she, once again, retreat into her empty shell and once again express her new abilities to block out emotion?

He certainly did not want to know, and he was all for delaying the inevitable, but he was quite sure that doing that would further cause the problem to heighten. So he found himself, Draco Malfoy, facing the grim prospect of informing Hermione Granger, that her once-called lifetime best friend and one of the many people who had deserted her in times of great trouble, was about to meet her in a surprise arrangement. Yes, Draco Malfoy will surely be dead meat. But then again, he already knew that.

Draco stared at the silent Hermione, who was once again staring at the outside view the window provided. Her hands were idly fiddling with the hem of her short robes, and her eyes were once again blank. Really, what was it about her and windows?

"Granger…" he carefully spoke.

Hermione merely stopped her fiddling in a silent attempt to tell him she was listening.

"I need to tell you something. You might…you might freak out or scream or something, but hear me out first."

She slowly nodded her head.

Draco squarely looked at her in the eye. "It's like this. You remember the part where you agreed to work for this secret organization, right?" He continued after another nod of Hermione's head. "Well, let me just tell you that the head of that organization is Harry Potter… Yes, him. And…he's coming over to see you today."

"….Oh."

Silence.

Draco was sure that with the silence so unbearably stifling, he could hear his own heart beating madly. He stared at Granger to see her reaction, but she had bowed her head, and her curtain of brown hair had fallen to the side, blocking her face from view. He clenched his fists and inwardly swore. He hated it when she used the silent treatment. He hated it not because it prompted him to pity her, but because he was never familiar with a silent Granger; thus, when she was silent, he felt like she was a stranger. And above all things, Draco hated not having the ability to read people.

"Granger, surely you're not _crying?" _he said mockingly, anticipating her to be angry and break the silence.

He should've known better. She lifted her face, brown meeting gray, to show him that she was, indeed, not crying. But Draco, who was once again subject to those perfectly blank eyes he had grown to hate, felt like she was crying. Maybe not physically, but perhaps emotionally.

Draco watched her as she slowly sank to the bed, curling herself into a ball, dark brown hair contrasting sharply against the white sheets. His stomach tightened as he saw her whole body shaking uncontrollably, her sunlight-free skin becoming even paler, and he waited for the tears to fall down, but strangely enough, they didn't. It felt as though she wanted to cry, but couldn't. As though she forgot how to cry… As though she had forgotten loneliness, but was feeling it… As though she was sad for not knowing she was sad…

Draco turned away from her, forcefully trying to erase the image of the girl everyone hated, broken and lost and drowning. When he went to Azkaban to meet her, he had expected to see a murderer, or a person angry and vengeful for being called a murderer, but never did he expect to find her like this. Which only proved that he knew next to nothing about her. Except one single thing. She was an irony to herself. Irony. It felt so strange describing her like that.

Hating himself for saying this, he told her quietly, "Are you okay?"

This time, she did answer. Giving him what could have been a smile but was so faded it could've been his imagination, she whispered, "No. But I will be."

She was ironic like that.

………………………

**AN: **Ummm…okay. I'm almost afraid to ask what you guys think. Yes, it's twisted (I know), and Draco and Hermione are totally OOC. But then again, you know what the effects of Azkaban can bring to a person, even to an intelligent witch like Hermione. And as for Draco, well, let's just say that Harry had rubbed off on him. : )

Okay, enough ranting. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reviewed before. I really appreciate it, and I do hope you review again.


	3. Chapter 3

Queen of Azkaban 

**Chapter 2**

…………………………

"_I hate sunsets."_

_(Long hair bathed in a warm glow, creating a halo … (and you make such a convincing angel…))_

"_Why?"_

_(Hands swiftly move to create an obscured portrait… (and you marvel at how much it screams 'you'…))_

"_Whenever I look at it, I see sin. My sin. The red speaks for it all, you know. It makes me feel so dirty, even if I already atoned for everything. And I…I just can't seem to erase it, just like I can't erase sunsets…because they're part of nature and nature is…everything that defies human logic and…Ugh. I'm not making any sense, am I?"_

_(Lips curl up into a smile, cherry red lips turned white under the heavy canopy of sunlight… (and your silent laughter echoes sharply in the bleeding air…))_

"_No. You always don't. But I'm used to it."_

_(Figures move... (and you shiver at the contact…))_

"_Yeah. Just like sunsets."_

_(Behind you, the world fades in a mesh of pink and orange and red.)_

…………………………

Hermione Granger slowly opened her eyes and was met by the fierce orange glow of afternoon sunlight. She moved her stiff fingers and listened for any sound that might indicate that she was not alone in the room, but all she heard was the slow, torturous wheezing of an old man in the portrait stationed near her window. Gently pulling herself up into a sitting position, she noticed that the curtains were drawn wide open, providing her of a wonderful view of the sunset.

Hermione became subconsciously aware that she wasn't supposed to be awake. She wanted to sleep and never wake up. After all, she had spent most of her post-Hogwarts days locked up in a cold version of hell, with only the grimy stone floors for a mattress, and now, here she was, covered in velvet bed sheets in a bed that was twice the size of her prison cell. No one could blame her for finding it hard to adjust to such lush surroundings.

But there was still one thing that nagged at her, and she soon found out what it was. Her body, especially her arms, was no longer in pain. In fact, all her bruises and wounds were already gone. She figured that Malfoy must be thoroughly shocked by the recent events that he had, for a minute, forgotten how to act like the son of a devil incarnate. Blinking, as though to reassure herself that she was not hallucinating, Hermione rose from her bed and gingerly touched her now unblemished skin. She had been so far away from the wizarding civilization that she forgot what it felt like to see and experience magic.

Walking barefoot towards the full-length mirror stationed near the wardrobe closet, she tentatively touched the outline of her reflection with her fingertips, as though afraid it would suddenly break at the merest contact. She saw her own lifeless, doll-like brown eyes staring back at her and she involuntarily shivered. It was the first time she had seen herself in two years.

Mirrors… It fascinated her. She loved the way they shined, especially when hit by direct sunlight, and the way they could warp and twist various images given the right angle. When she was in Azkaban, mirrors and all kinds of sharp objects were prohibited inside the cells for fear that the prisoners would try to intentionally harm themselves, so it came as an utter shock to her to see herself looking much like Sirius Black during his first few weeks after his escape from Azkaban many years ago – thin, brittle, and gaunt-looking. She did not like the feeling that that thought brought her.

Hearing a cracking and scuffling noise behind her, Hermione swiveled and came face to face with an old female house elf carefully draping a set of ornate dress robes on top of her bed. Upon seeing Hermione, however, the elf's eyes fully widened, and she nearly dropped the dress she was holding.

"Wait," Hermione said, but it came out more as a whisper and mere jumble of words. It was too late, too, for the elf had already apparated away, presumably to the kitchens, in order to inform the other house elves of her unfortunate luck to meet Azkaban's most known dark witch face to face.

If Hermione had been in the right state of mind, she would have felt a rush of sudden disappointment and pain by being treated and feared by one of the magical creatures whose causes and proper rights to freedom she had ardently supported when she was a student. Now, though, it only left her with an empty hollow feeling at the pit of her stomach that she could have easily ignored.

She approached the corner of her bed again and marveled at the elegant piece of artwork laid in front of her. Unlike the dress she was currently wearing, it was pure white, with sleeves that had intricate designs beautifully woven from the hair of unicorns, and flowed all the way down to her knees. With the dress came a note that was written in fine, cursive letters. It said: _Wear it for tonight's meeting. –M._

Hermione froze upon reading it. She had almost forgotten Malfoy's words a while ago. She was… after two torturous years… she was to going to meet her former best friend again. Harry Potter. How would he react upon seeing her? Will he curse her the way he did when they last saw each other? Or better yet, would he try to kill her? She did not dare guess. All her thoughts were directed on the owner of the green eyes that used to haunt her night and day in Azkaban.

"_Traitor. The severed ties of friendship for the price of ambition. Traitor. Traitor!"_

Hermione let out a gasp once those familiar words seeped back into her mind like the poisonous blood flowing through her veins. Again and again she heard _his _voice, and this time she could imagine his face – a mixture of betrayal and pain buried under cold layers of anger – and each time she did, she felt herself bleeding on the inside.

_And, oh God, oh God, _she inwardly said, _it _hurts.

Her whole countenance trembled and she covered her ears with her hands to try to block out the pain, all the while muttering to herself, _"Stop it. Stop it. Stop-"_

_("-Traitor, traitor-")_

"_- it, please. I don't want to hear him say it. Stop it, stop it –"_

_("Traitor!")_

"_STOP IT!"_

And Hermione Granger, in all her Gryffindor glory, with her back turned away from the glorious sunset, wept invisible tears and mourned the cursed fate that would forever be hers.

…………………………

Welcoming the silence once again, she sat on one of the chairs surrounding the table and stared at her wrists, as though imagining them to still be bound by heavy shackles. Her thoughts were centered on the confrontation she would no doubt have later upon seeing Harry Potter again for the first time in two years.

But soon, she got tired of thinking and dwelling on the impossible, so she stood up and made her way towards the window sill and parted the curtains, only to see someone whom she hadn't seen in a few hours. It was Malfoy, and he seemed to be sitting under the shade of an old apple tree. Upon closer inspection, Hermione discovered that he was idly plucking blades of grass, and he appeared to be thinking deeply about something, judging by the permanent scowl on his face.

_He's probably thinking of ways to curse me, _Hermione thought with no feelings of discomfort or anger whatsoever.

Suddenly, Malfoy's head turned a fraction of an inch, and before she knew it, his harsh gray eyes were boring holes in her skull. She stared back at him for a few seconds, face numb and frozen, and then, just when she was wondering on what to do next, Malfoy looked away. She watched him wipe away bits and pieces of grass from his robes and walk away back inside, his fists clenched and back ramrod straight. Hermione, for her part, quickly drew back the curtains and leaned against the wall.

She wondered what that was all about. What was it that made him go out and mull things over? Did he think she was spying on him? But she had no time to ponder these thoughts as she could no longer ignore the sound of voices coming from downstairs. Running towards her bedroom door and pressing her ear against it, she heard a man's voice, as well as the sound of the heavy, double doors of the manor being opened. That only meant one thing. _He _was here. Right now. Just a staircase away from her.

Hermione's lips trembled. She heard Malfoy loudly order one of the house elves to bring in the "visitor". But she remained frozen in place, stomach jittery and eyes holding back tears. She couldn't do it. She couldn't. Just the thought of going downstairs and looking at him with the knowledge that he would be looking right back at her with his eyes filled with so much hate and pain tore away at her resolve and the remaining piece of her sanity. She would rather go back in Azkaban than face him. It was just… too much.

"I can't do this," an agonized Hermione whispered.

…………………………

Draco Malfoy hated visitors. He hated them with a passion usually reserved for annoying people such as those working for the Ministry, although back in his childhood days, during family functions and dinner parties spent mingling with all of Lucius and Narcissa's handpicked allies, one would suspect he thought otherwise. True, when he was younger, he had aspired on doing nothing but impress their guests and earn high praises that was sure to make any Malfoy proud, but as he got older, he learned that those who usually knocked (or more like apparated) at his front door brought nothing but trouble. And as Draco ordered the doors to open to reveal the object of his frustrations, he realized how correct his earlier thoughts were.

"Honestly, Malfoy," Harry Potter grumbled as he stepped inside the grand reception area of Malfoy Manor. "It would save me a lot of trouble if you would just remove the anti-apparition wards inside this house."

"Manor, Potter, not house," Draco corrected, annoyed.

Harry rolled his eyes. Apparently, no matter how long he and Draco spent their time together, Draco would still remain an insufferable, arrogant prick whose pride is about as tall as the Eiffel tower.

"Yeah, well, whatever, Malfoy," he said. "I have a surprise for you."

Draco frowned suspiciously at the wide grin on his co-worker's face. That only meant that whatever the surprise is, it was not something that Draco would like much. "Spit it out then, Potter, and let's get this over with," he told him.

Harry stared at the front double doors opened again, revealing another figure much taller than either Harry or Draco. What made Draco's jaw drop, however, was the flash of red hair that accompanied the stranger.

"_Weasley?!"_

"Hello to you too, Malfoy. Long time no see."

Indeed, it was none other than Ron Weasley. He appeared to be taller than the last time Draco had seen him, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that his unruly mane of red hair had grown longer, reaching his shoulders, and he was wearing a white, fitted shirt underneath his slightly tattered navy blue dress robes. Sporting a large grin that rivaled that of Harry's, Ron Weasley, proclaimed by the public as one of the most famous war heroes ever and the best friend of Harry Potter, sidled over to Draco and ruffled his blond tresses by way of greeting.

"Bugger off, Weasley! How many times have I told you not to touch my hair?!" Draco practically screamed, his face contorted with rage at the unkind handling of one of his most prized assets. Nobody save for his mother was allowed to touch his hair.

"Too many times for my liking, ferret. That's why it's only natural for me to forget a single word you said," Ron answered, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Anyway, in case you were wondering why I came back so early and visited you poor excuse of a loser, well…"

"He just got lucky and finished his job earlier than expected. Apparently, his idea of a surprise visit included apparating directly in my apartment and walking in on me in the loo. Must've hoped I was showering," Harry informed Draco.

Ron's ears immediately turned pink. "That's rubbish, Harry! You know that was by accident! And besides, I'm already seeing someone else, so don't flatter yourself."

"Oh yeah, I remember her. The one you met at a pub a few days after breaking up with Lavender Brown. What was her name again?"

"Victoria."

By this time, the full impact of Ron Weasley's arrival hit Draco squarely in the face. For a few precious seconds, he allowed his face to pale, and it was only to his satisfaction that no one seemed to notice. But Weasley, however long he had stayed in Germany for his solo mission and however badly the rest of their crew missed him, was not supposed to be here in his abode at this moment.

_Damn it! He wasn't supposed to be here! Everything's ruined! _Draco thought angrily. Ron's presence, he believed, would only provide a dark foreshadowing of Draco's future. It was bad enough that he had to talk to Potter about the new addition to the crew in such a way that the foolish git would not dare to commit suicide, never mind the fact that there was a huge possibility that he would show him exactly why he had been able to defeat Voldemort (in short, he was going to kill him and feed him to his house elves on a silver platter), but with Weasley, he would be killed in such a way that he would never be able to reach Purgatory, much less Hell.

After all, Ron was gifted with the insane ability to overreact in any given situation and respond in the only way he knew how –violence. Draco valued his life, so he was not quite sure on how to tell them about the reappearance of someone whose name still managed to make Ron and Harry cringe. Surely, he simply couldn't settle for, "Oh, the murderer of McGonagall, the one you once called best friend, is currently residing in the manor with me, and she's soon to join our team, but it wasn't my idea, so please don't get mad at me?" He highly doubted the Wonder Twins would like that.

"Malfoy? MALFOY!"

Draco was jolted back from his thoughts when Harry shook him lightly on the shoulders. "What?" he whispered.

Harry gave him a funny look. "What were you thinking about, ferret? You weren't listening to a thing I was saying, were you?" he said in a voice that only meant he thought Draco was going crazy again.

Draco, meanwhile, ignored Harry's subtle jibe. Instead, he collected himself and reminded Harry what he came here for.

"You said you wanted to discuss something with me. Isn't that right, Malfoy?" Harry answered, grimacing. "Somehow, I don't think I'd be thrilled about what you have to say, seeing as it's so important that you have to tell it to me personally, on a Sunday night, no less, whereas I could have spent it taking Ginny to a fancy restaurant and snogging her senseless."

"That's bloody disgusting, Harry! I mean, that's my sister! There has to be a rule against saying such things like that in front of friends," Ron sputtered as he made choking noises in the air.

Draco, still overcome with fear at the fact that this might be his last day in this world, had no energy left to give his companion a disgusted look. What he did, however, was to summon his house elf, the same one who catered to Granger's needs a while ago, in order to tell her to go fetch and bring the visitor in, where they would be waiting for her inside the dining hall for dinner.

"Visitor? What's this about, Malfoy?" Ron asked as Draco led the way to the dining chamber. "Don't tell me you're getting married?"

At this, Draco turned a nasty shade of green as he imagined himself getting married to a convicted murderer. He restrained himself from throttling Ron's neck when he glared at him and sneered, "The complexities of your brain never fails to astound me, Weasley."

"You're right. It was stupid of me to think that somehow, someone would be loony enough to want to marry a prat like you," Ron retaliated. By this time, they were already getting seated in the dining room, and upon arrival of one of the house elves, food instantly appeared on the table.

"Maybe we should wait for that guest of yours to arrive before digging in," Harry wisely said, more to change the subject to stop their growing row than out of concern.

"Yes. For once I agree with you, Potter," Draco said, stomach twisting at the mention of the "guest".

But as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of Hermione Granger, and for a split second, Draco thought she must have murdered his house elf and was well on her way to murder them. That, or the fact that maybe she had already killed herself, given her delicate condition the last time he spoke with her.

_Where in Merlin's beard are you, Granger? I swear, if you don't show up, I'll kill you even before Potter realizes he wants to kill me, _Draco thought, incensed.

"Alright, that's it! I've had enough. Whoever this guest of yours is, Malfoy, I don't care. I'm hungry, I'm going to eat right now, and there's no bloody way the two of you could stop me," Ron suddenly spoke. He looked at Draco and Harry with a determined expression on his face, as if daring them to object.

Draco sighed, although inwardly he was cursing Granger again and again and was making eternal vows to hex her senseless. "Fine. Let's eat," he growled, and with such brutal force that would put his parents to shame, he angrily stabbed his fork at his sliced chicken, imagining it was Granger's head.

However, midway through their meal, and just when Ron had finished narrating his self-proclaimed heroic adventures in Germany and Draco had given up all hopes of her coming, the door to the dining chamber slowly creaked open, and in stood a woman in splendid dress robes who, if not for her face that was cast in shadow, could have passed off as any ordinary witch with no connection to his guests whatsoever.

Naturally, Draco was the first one to see her. Even though his hatred for her had risen to the point where all he was seeing was red, he could not help but wince once he met her perfectly vacant chocolate eyes. She looked like Death itself. Her unruly dark brown hair was tied haphazardly in a loose pony tail, giving the impression that she had at least tried to look decent but proved unsuccessful in the end. And even though there were no trace of bruises on her arms and legs like before (courtesy of him), her lips were cherry red, and they appeared to be bleeding from too much biting.

Hermione allowed her eyes to wander around the room, although she never once tried to look at her former friends, and for the second time that day, she caught Draco's eye. And the intensity of her look shook him to the core. What he saw in her gave him the impression of strength, yet for one second, he imagined that she was sending out a plea for help.

Before anyone else could speak, all heads turned to Harry as he coughed and spluttered and choked on his own food. Ignoring Ron's cries of "Are you alright, mate?" and managing to get his hands on his goblet of pumpkin juice, his breathing eventually evened, and the coughing stopped, yet what caused the tightening of Draco's stomach was Harry's brilliant green gaze directed solely on the motionless Hermione. It was hard to imagine what his reaction was. For all Draco knew, he was shocked, angry, skeptical, or maybe a mixture of all three. It was only when Harry spoke in a brittle tone that betrayed his masked face that Draco was able to guess exactly what his friend's feelings are.

"Malfoy, Ron, can you slap me?"

Ron, still oblivious to the bearer of Harry's stare, scrunched up his face in confusion. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I said, can you slap me? Hurt me, punch me, whatever you think is necessary for me to return to normal because… I think… I'm hallucinating…" Harry's voice trailed off, and his voice wavered a bit.

For the first time since Hermione's arrival to dinner, Draco gathered up the courage to speak the truth. "Potter, I don't think-"

His remark went ignored when Ron delivered a light but swift punch to Harry's cheek, and although all occupants of the room heard the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh, Harry's face remained clean and bruise-free.

"Hell, that felt good," Ron joked, making an obvious effort to bring his best friend out of his stupor.

Sadly, that particular ruse did not work, for Harry Potter remained in a trance-like state, his skin pale and eyes slowly resembling that of Luna Lovegood's. Oh, how he longed to close them, to not see the figure of the ghost who had come out to haunt him. And yes, he allowed himself to believe that _she _was nothing but a ghost, for who else- the gods perhaps – would play such a cruel trick on him, who else would show him the face of the person from his past, the person who was still capable of giving him nightmares that would send him reeling and gasping for breath in the middle of the night?

"Hit me again! Hit… hit me again, because I still _see _her… but I'm sure she's just my imagination because there is no bloody way in hell that I deserve to be punished like this and –oh Merlin – I must be going crazy because I'm imagining her staring at me and she's not moving but –damn it – she's still there!" Harry would not stop rambling, and as his hands started to tremble uncontrollably, Draco could see that the careful layers that Harry had built over the years was slowly crumbling, and he hated the fact that he could do nothing except look at his friend who was clawing and tearing on the inside.

Alarmed at the hysterical tone of Harry's voice, Ron, whose back was to the entrance to the dining room, slowly turned around to find out exactly what had managed to produce such a reaction from his best friend, and he nearly fainted at what he saw. Granger, Hermione Granger, was looking straight at him as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. Ron had imagined this very scene dozens of times, and he remembered creating a list of things to do to her, a list of curses to tell her, and other things that would leave her no doubt that he now consider her as nothing but a traitor who deserves a punishment greater than death. But now… now that he was actually face to face with her, now that she was standing just a few steps away from her, looking so brittle and broken and defeated… He did the only thing he could think of.

He stood up and punched Harry again in the face.

"Bloody hell, Weasley!" he heard Draco curse, but he paid him no mind.

Ron's emotional blue eyes were fixed solely on Harry, the only other person who could possibly understand what he was feeling at the moment. One look at the numb expression on his best friend's face and this confirmed his suspicions. Vaguely, he inferred that that powerful punch he just gave would earn Harry a bruise tomorrow, but he could not allow himself to care at the moment.

"Harry, mate, snap out of it!" Ron exclaimed in a voice that was ninety-nine percent demanding. He grabbed his friend by the collar and shook him none too gently. "You're… you're just dreaming… Tell me you can't see _her _anymore! Tell me she's just a figment of your imagination! Tell me that… that she's not real! Say it, Harry, and I'll believe you! However insincere you sound, I'll bloody well believe you!"

Harry painfully closed his eyes, his teeth clenched, but other than that, he remained silent.

"Harry, you prat, say something! _Tell me she's not real!"_

Eyes opened once again, Harry harshly broke free from Ron's painful grip. "I can't… I can't fucking convince myself to say it, not when you so obviously see her too!" he screamed. The instant he did, a portion of the plates and glasses on the table shattered in a sudden burst of accidental magic.

Draco, to prevent himself from saying anything as dramatic as the ones his visitors have been sprouting and to prevent himself from showing any signs of concern for his two obviously lunatic co-workers, instead managed to yell, "Potter, that's my dining utensils you're destroying! Watch it!"

Luckily for him, both Harry and Ron were both too wrapped up in their own emotions to care for something as frivolous as antique Malfoy glassware. In fact, they, or more specifically, Ron, decided it was a good way to show his temper by pounding the table and smashing his plate in the process. But Ron took no notice even as the tiny shards of glass prickled his skin and produced a tiny trickle of blood on his fingers. Instead, he muttered again and again, "I'm just dreaming. She's not real. Not real. Not real. Not real."

"I'm sorry for being late for dinner."

Draco could only stare in absolute horror, mouth agape, as Hermione Granger proved to everyone that she was, indeed, capable of making her vocal chords function. All eyes, even a pair of wild green eyes, were on her. Of all the times when she could have spoken up, and of all the things she could have told them, she instead chose to do something as idiotic and random as apologizing for being late for dinner, as if either one of his guests were in the mood to listen to her apologies, seeing as they were both going mad trying to ignore her presence.

Just when Draco was about to criticize her outlandish behavior and just when he thought that things could not get any worse, Hermione, _sensible_ person that she is (and this, of course, was said with a certain degree of sarcasm), daintily took a seat next to him, and was now in Ron's, who was seated opposite her, full view. As if she could not feel the weight of everyone's stare on her, she proceeded with cutting the bread laid out in front of her, unmindful of the fact that said bread was actually on top of a plate that is missing one fourths of stainless glass. (This is, of course, due to Harry's earlier outburst).

If before, the current master of the house thought her slightly crazy, now, Draco wasn't entirely sure if he could categorize her as being a madwoman, because surely, such a title is too mild for someone capable of committing such actions. If he had been in her situation, he was certain that the last thing he would do upon seeing the very people who had helped put him in prison was to ignore their very existence. But then again, he thought in a poor attempt to see reason, maybe she was just too emotionally worn to maintain her wits and sensibility, and to act in a way that most normal human beings do. Maybe, the only way for her to deal with such trauma and distress is to block out reality and imprison herself in another world where there is no one but her.

This realization did not make it any easier for Draco, for he was still oblivious as to whether he should feel pity or anger for her. It could be pity because he believed that no human being, no matter how vile and cruel, deserves to suffer this way (after all, he, being a former villain, had been given a second chance by his enemies, so why not her too?); on the other hand, he was also angry at the fact that her current behavior would not help him explain and settle matters with the two, currently emotionally wrecked Gryffindors.

But no matter, if ignorance was the way they wanted to play this game, then Draco was fine by it. He would bring them back to reality, even if cost him. "Potter, Weasley, get a hold of your selves. You're embarrassing me," Draco snapped. "I'll explain everything to you." At the murderous looks on Harry and Ron's faces, he added in the most harsh manner possible, "No buts, no complaints. I am going to give an explanation and _both of you _are going to fucking listen to me, and I don't care what it takes. If I have to Stupefy you or Crucio you into cooperating, then so be it."

Aware of everyone's attention on him, and even more aware of the fact that one wrong move on his part and Potter and Weasley would gain the right to kill him in the worst, most painful way possible, Draco spoke.

"First of all, you're not hallucinating, although as to whether or not you're going crazy, I'm not so sure…" After earning a set of deadly glares from both men, Draco wisely refrained from saying any more insults and instead, continued, "Yes, the person you are seeing in front of you right now is in fact, no other than Hermione Granger herself. We all know her history, murderer and best friend and all, and for your information, I am not bloody well pleased for her to go traipsing around in my manor like some harmless, innocent member of the Light, so don't you fucking blame me for these particular turn of events. There is only one scapegoat here, and that's the Ministry."

"_They," _he spat with so much ferocity, "are the ones who decided that they'd had enough of being scared shitless of _her, _so they decided that dumping her at us and letting her being part of our crew has to be loads better than helplessly watching her kill Azkaban criminals who, in my opinion, really deserved to die anyway. And yes, if you're still so thick as to not realize what I'm getting at, that bloody well means that she, Hermione Granger, is released from Azkaban and is now walking the earth as a free citizen. That, and the fact that she's going to replace Finnegan."

Draco temporarily broke his tirade upon hearing Ron's painful burst of "_WHAT?!" _ and Harry's equally painful gasp that he tried so hard to conceal. As for Hermione, who had now stopped her attempts to fill her stomach with bread, he had a hunch that he would no longer be easily deceived by her empty expression. In fact, he knew she was hurting as much as they were, so he dared not look at her for fear of doing something he might immediately regret.

Silence, something which Draco was slowly getting used to when in the presence of one Hermione Granger, seemed to stretch on, and he swore he could see the food in front of him slowly rot away. It was only when Harry bravely chose to speak once again that he felt as if he could breathe normally again.

"You're under the Imperius, aren't you?" Harry said, his voice quiet yet steely and resolved, whereas his eyes bore hints of accusation directed at Draco. "And this… this whole fiasco is nothing but a powerful spell _she _designed in the hopes of exacting revenge. As for her presence here, I bet all my money in Gringotts that she just escaped. That's it, isn't it?"

"Listen to yourself speak, Potter," Draco sneered. "Me, betwitched? That's absurd! It most definitely is just something that your own brain created in the hopes of ignoring reality. I'm right and you know it."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, and this time, it was Ron who voiced his opinion. "Harry, _he," _He gestured towards Draco, "must've helped her. There's no other possible explanation as to why she's here, in his home no less."

"Weasley, how wonderfully brilliant for you to include me in today's crimes," Draco scoffed, unwilling to do nothing to the recent attack on his pride.

"Shut up, Malfoy! You miserable, old git! You coward! I can't believe you let that murderer escape! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" Ron screamed, standing up so abrupt and drawing his wand and pointing it at Draco.

"Ron, no!" Harry, heroic being that he is, managed to grab the redhead at the last moment and stop him from attempting to cast the most unforgivable spell to their own comrade. "Stop it, Ron! I don't think Malfoy helped her escape on his own free will, but-"

"That's bullshit, Harry!" Ron hysterically yelled, struggling to break free from Harry's strong clutches. "Let me at him! I want to _kill _him!"

"No, you won't, Ron!" Harry said firmly, strengthening his grip on Ron. "You won't because you can't! Because you're not a murderer, not like _her!" _This time, he gave Hermione, who was innocently watching by the sidelines, his most hated glare, and for a moment, he reveled in the fact her hands shook, and he managed to create a crack in her carefully crafted mask of sweet ignorance.

Emboldened by this, Harry continued speaking. "I hate you, Hermione Granger."

Silence once again.

"I hate you so much, more than I have ever hated Snape or even Voldemort himself! You have no idea how… how broken I…_we _have all been because of your betrayal! You might as well have done it the Muggle way and stabbed me on the back with a kitchen knife and…. and… I would've…I would've _died _for you the same way my dad would've died for Peter! I HATE YOU!"

Draco was clueless as to what to say next. Oddly enough, he ran out of insults and curses to yell at both Harry and Ron. And apparently, so did they. Ron remained silent, and it was only upon glancing at his tightly clenched fists that one would be instantly reminded that he was still in the mood to kill anyone whom he could blame for this whole reunion. Harry, on the other hand, was breathing heavily, having exhausted his lungs to the fullest. Instead, he opted to notice all the tiny little details of the Malfoy marble floor, in such a way that his bangs partially hidden his eyes, and therefore, Draco and Hermione were not subjected to see the rage and hatred still clouding those usually calm green eyes.

"I'm not a murderer." This was whispered with such frailty; had it not been for the fact that there was complete, utter silence, her comment would not have been heard at all.

Finally, Draco gathered the courage to look at her. She was staring at a particular spot on the wall, and one hand was insufferably gripping her spoon, so much so that her knuckles had turned a ghastly white. For the first time, he was able to see the emotions that she had hidden for so long – everything from sorrow to hatred to anguish. In fact, her face was painted with so much dilution that his mind was sent lurching and he felt himself falling into a dark, bottomless abyss. For once, he was allowed passage at the complexities of Hermione Granger's heart.

"I'm not a murderer," Hermione said, this time stronger.

She stood up and turned to leave. Everyone, even Harry, looked at her retreating back, but not before catching a glimpse of one lone tear making its way down her cheek, and not without hearing her last words, the remains of a girl trying so hard to be her own princess.

"I'm not a murderer and I have never been. The only thing I've ever murdered was myself."

And in that moment, she was raw, bleeding poetry personified.

…………………………

AN: Lots of drama, OOC characters, and grammar mistakes. Don't I know it? And yeah, I'm oh so terribly sorry for this very late update, but I've been busy with a lot of things, and trust me, you don't want to know. : )

Anyway, I know I did a crappy job of portraying Harry and Ron's characters. I mean, it's just that I'm not used to writing them, so any suggestions please? Also, for those of you who commented on Blaise being OOC, my sincerest apologies. You're right, I'm sorry I got carried away.

I do hope you continue reviewing though, because I'm really anxious to know your reactions for this chapter. Is Hermione freaking you out? Is Draco losing his title of "evil git"? Was I right in adding Ron to the mix? Are Harry and Ron's reactions acceptable or not? Tell me, folks, and I promise, no matter how vile and horrible you think this story is, I'll accept it. So go review!


End file.
